brixton with lizards

surreal walk yesterday, through brixton. sunny, like spring. i am with a guy with huge cowboy leather boots and 2 plastic lizards in a pink purse. they are his lizards- a big one and a small one. we get out from a house in brixton- a party with his friends- his birthday.knew him from the behind the bars night last week- was doing a scatman performance. first thing i see when we get out from the house are 5 planes at the same time on the sky. you must know that you can see loads of planes on the sky everyday here. whenever you raise your eyes there's a plane. that's for sure. but now there were five, at the same time, through the clouds, different distances, different dimensions, and my eye caught them in the same instant flash. five. the closest one was like a toy that somebody was keeping hanged above us. white belly through the clouds. almost could reach the hand and touch it. zoom. then, the walk goes on in brixton. small houses, open air. lots of people. most of them looking down. i feel we walk on a thin plateau, max's boots keep our walking real, tok-tok-tok. everybody is looking down and all the people seem worried, they all seem to bear big burdens inside, except the children. get to the post office soo my scatman friend could get some money. a red post office. many people on the row. a kid looking into my eyes. smiles. shy. time passes. we get the money, i mean the guy gets the money, we walk off. incredible weather, spring. sun. it is beautiful. we find the station, get a big bottle of water and the bus. we sit without moving. the scatman's pants are full of ash. i look at my hands- remember we were all pouring purple glitter on our hands last night. no traces now. gloves look decent, to say the least. shoes dirty as hell. like marching through the swamp. max is worried about a friend. "i do the most retarded things when i'm drunk". tells me about the first party they went to, before coming to the place we met- says they were stripping on the tables and then he got worried about his friend who was working there, afraid she might loose her job after that. we drink water. "brixton and hackney were good places for squating", he says. "but the police came and began cleaning everything up." the bus floats through the sunny city. so what're your plans for today? "i guess i will take my friend shopping, i say. "or maybe just sleep the day off- that's more close to the truth." "i will do the same, he says. sleep all day." we are peaceful and cold and tranquilized. the light of the day is flowing around us. i feel the world with light is less mysterious and more brutal, seeing things in full shape is a bit too much, it amplifies them. but the light has someting magical and healing. just as the big bottle of cold water. i get off at holborn, get a bit messy with my directions, manage to find a way then get to elephant and castle, where the bus apparently terminates. i have to get down and take another one. but first get some money from a bank machine and top up my oyster card. and buy me some food. so i get to visit all the entries and exits of the elephant and castle stations to get my things sorted out. it is a round station. people sell things in a market who is one level below, and some scattered groups of young people with microphones sing about jesus christ and eternal salvation one floor above. they seem like some party people with the wrong lyrics. i try to get some food. i stare at some shelf with undefined jamaican or something like that. i don't know. i don't care. everything is overwhelming. just want to get to my bed. i take some spinach pie and try to find my way without looking around. i feel like i'm crossing through hell- the place and the people seem evil, grey and schizophrenic. try to not look around, but bang! one of the singers catches my eye and in a second he's near me. didn't even got to take a bite from my spinach pie. "do you believe in jesus"? he says full of hope, thrusting his eyes into mine. "well, yes, i mean not exactly like that, i mean not exactly if you put it like that, but..." i try to mumble. he takes me by the arm "then if you believe in jesus, why don't you give your life to him now? " he says, like the next thing possible would have been me stabbing myself in the middle of elephant and castle and singing in a mystical orgasm about my sacrifice for jesus. i look at him, i'm like- you are kind of radical, man, but he seems to be convinced that he is saving my life by telling me all these, that i will die if i don't give my life to jesus, and i'm more and more like- hey man who even brought such grave things like life and death into this pleasant conversation we were having?, and when he is basically telling me that if i'm walking away i will die soon, i shake his hand firmly and say goodbye. nice talking to you!! he shouts, and all his mates singing and applausing and praising the lord, oh, man, i manage to get myself a big orangejuice can and jump into a bus.then head home, to the darkness of my sleeping duvet.

fiona, leon and the married guy

last week, shoreditch. james goes home and me and gabi sandu are still at the party. after the bouncers get everybody out, we run on the street randomly after after a guy to ask where's the next party. the guy turns back and is like- you want another party? come with me.his name is leon. leon is spanish and is very happy that we came with him. talks about his friends that were supposed to go with him but left him alone. talks about the first time he came out- he told his friends that he is gay, and everybody was like- no shit! after you slept with all of us, now you decided to make it official?? we laugh. leon takes us to another bar, who was opening that night. it's 4 o'clock and it's the only place opened. not many people inside, we take some drinks, dance a bit, a tall guy follows me like i'm the squirrel of his dream or something like that- he takes me up in the air and makes those kind of facial expressions about love and devotion, i escape, the bar closes, we go. there's leon, fiona, and a fat sad guy. fiona is blonde, short hair, glasses. nice and cerebral. nobody knew eachother from before except me and gabi. the married guy wants to take me home. he is sad. he says it's his birthday, he is 36. i am like- why don't you go home? he's like- oh, if you only knew what's home!! a wife and 2 kids. i am like- well, it's sounds like you have a family. isn't that nice? "it's hell", he says. "i'm very sad. come home with me." i tell him that i don't wanna, and he is like- "but i like you! it's my birthday. i'm sad." i give him the family speeches, think about your kids and all the rest. he doesn't understand shit. then i go to walk with leon, who's much more positive. leon tells me about the flower market which is close to brick lane, and about how i should try to go there on pills- it blows your head, man!! he's like- imagine a street FULL of flowers?!??! and you are just.... WOW. we finally get to the bus station, we stop. the sad fat married guy levitates around us. gabi and leona are cerebrally talking. leon explains me about the flowers, and then he suddenly looks up and sees the full moon- and he is- NOOOO, it's full moon. he hits the wall. everytime it's full moon it messes me up. i tell him i know, and he almost starts crying. you don't understand, it really messes me up, i can't sleep, i become nervous, i don't know what's with me... he looks beautiful, almost crying in the moonlight of the full moon. the sad married guy is almost disgusted with this show. i hold leon's hand and say it will be ok. we gloss our lips with lip gloss. now we are beautiful. the bus comes. me and gabi run inside, the bus driver looks at me- i have a beer in my hand. i throw the beer to leon and the bus doors close. the married guy waves sadly, as the bus goes by.

beautiful marek

found a passport on the streets some days ago. a czech passport- inside, the picture of a beautiful boy named marek. i was secretly hoping i will find him at the czech embassy and that he will love me forever because i saved his life. so i took the passport at the czech emb, which is somewhere near notting hill. 2 blonde guys in front of the door, looking at the speaker. i ask them what's the main entrance, they show me the door in front of them. the door opens, and a huge guy, 3 sizes me looks at me from up and asks what do i want. "i found a passport", i say. "on the street". oh, says the huge guy and makes me a sign to go in. i go in, the door closes. the 2 blonde guys remain outside. they look at me with hatred. the bodyguard, who seems a quarter afro-american, a quarter latin blood, and the rest of 2 quarters the human version od moby dick, looks at me, smiles and asks: "ce faci?". oh, you know romanian... i say. and answer- "bine". he smiles back. he knows: "bine", "foarte bine", "noapte buna", "la revedere". while waiting for the clerk guy at the office to finish his appointment, we talk more. "i love manele", he says. i laugh. he tells me he worked at a romanian restaurant - or a restaurant ran by romanians, i don't understand, and that they were always playing manele. romanians do a lot of bad things in europe, he says. and then- i had a girlfriend who was romanian. he smiles again. aha, i say, so that's hoe you know romanian. yes, he nods his head. i wonder how his girlfriend looked like. i recap the words he knows, which can be in fact the essence of their relationship: bine, foarte bine, noapte buna, la revedere. (good, very good, good night, good bye). then he looks at me and says- "foarte bine"!(very good) and he winks at the passport. many poeple would do all sprts of crazy things with a found passport. and then, to the office clerk, who is now looking at us: this nice lady found a passport. i give the passport in, the guy opens it, and looks at the picture- "my goodness", he says. i have the impression that's a reaction to marek's beauty. then he recovers from his amazement and says - it is still valid. then he smiles at me, a very nice guy, and says- thank you. i'm sure he will be very happy when he finds it. on my way out, moby dick waves his hand and says: "la revedere"! I pass the 2 blonde guys who definitely hate me for going in and out just like that, and head on to buy christmas presents.

milk

harvey milk.beautiful.

spend a lot

what a mess what a mess

my desk. benylin chesty coughs. biologie manual pentru clasa a XIa. my cup with the little prince from belgrade. lemsip max for cold&flu. nivea. lime natural strenghts lime juice. nescafe. bubblz superbubbles.aspirin plus c. royal court wig out ticket. rabiesbabies sticker. sainsbury's british 8 peppered ham slices. the camera. a lighter. a mess.
blocked in front of this computer. trying to deal with your anger. ten ways of dealing with anger. take a walk. breathe. walk away. do some sports. run in the park. listen to music. watch tv. get some drugs. get drunk. go dance.
nurofen drajeuri.
2 months.
the first place i ever went to when i got here was embankment. i remembered walking there with you.
i don't understand shit about love anymore. i don't get it. it's a mess. it's a huge mess. feeling down and alone and constantly thinking that you are there somewhere and feeling better at the thought that i know you love me so this is supposed to make me happy and protect me. when in fact all i feel is that i constantly miss you and that i always have to fight with everything to make it work, and i get pissed when anybody else tries to mess with my feelings, acting like a hysterical freak if i feel like "the danger" of caring about somebody else like they are in fact enemies or they will turn up to be at some point all i cannot face is the anger of not having you here with me, the anger when i read your answer to my mail, the anger that i was so happy with you that i could do anything, the anger that once i've found that person that makes me fuckin dance when i walk down a street, that person that is so perfectly fit for me and i love, i have to understand and deal with the fact that we cannot be together. a mess. this is a mess. i've been trying to play brave but i am not brave i am a mess, i am emotionally fryed. i don't know what people are supposed to do when they break up like this. keep the good memories? promise promises like you did? is that what makes the breaking up easier? cry? play a song? watch a movie? break a glass? write a play? write something beautiful and tragic that makes you forget the first feeling of pain by replacing it with the joy of gaining a good piece of literature like all writers do?smth like- " useful experiences that enrich your life and talent"? another intense experience? is that it? put the blame on the other? take the blame on you, like you did, though you are not right and it is NOT entirely your fault? take a shower? laugh at yourself for beeing such a drama queen? make a photoshop colage with pictures of you and me and hearts and sunny skies?

london experience blog- dealing with loss. insomnia. dealing with your own need for love. dealing with going to clubs and kissing with guys and girls and playing cool just until the bouncers get us out, walking in cold and sleeping the next day off, the familiar shit you do so well. the party. the hangover. the cleaning up. the library. the conspects. the plans. the mistakes. the little laziness-es. the recovery. the same shit as always. pretending it never happened to me that i was so happy with you. oh i'm such a strong independent party girl. live the moment. erase your feelings. fuck all that. i feel i'm transforming into a cyborg. when i'll be back in ro i'll have the face and sould of the perfect fit for the 2010 robot. right? the training. the change. the perfection. come back a winner and do something for your country. there's something not workin in this paradigm. everybody wants you to be the winner. you also want to win - at least over your emotions for starters. but what if you choose honesty for example instead of all this constant training for winning that the world imposes upon you? what if you make that switch and get to be a weak honest lonely confused looser? is honesty more precious than this constant striving to win?

The Opening of the Offensive of Generosity

Opening

OFFENSIVE OF GENEROSITY

Open source
Act!

Offensive

Organized

Generous


If:
1. You work with a community.
2. You document and archive.
3. You share (creative education workshops).
4. The artistic product is only a consequence of the first three steps (active-creative / community creation).

EVERYBODY CAN COMMUNITY-CREATE(has the right, the freedom, the responsibility).

WE WORK TOGETHER. WE BUILD TOGETHER A NETWORK FOR EXCHANGING IDEAS, METHODS, WORKING TOOLS, RESOURCES.

WE RECOGNIZE EACHOTHER USING THIS ICON:

WE LET EACH OTHER KNOW EVERY TIME WE TAKE ACTION:

ofensivagenerozitatii@yahoo.com
http://www.ofensivagenerozitatii.blogspot.com/

FIRST COMMUNITY ACTION TOGETHER: WE PASS THIS ON.

buy less live more

(excerpts from the book Design Anarchy, by Kalle Lasn)

rabies babies

...meet the rabies babies.

saw them at the waterloo squat last night. finally some familiar fresh air in there. felt like home in a way. big squat room at the old buddhist centre, a few people, mulled wine and the first time ever somebody gave me here tequilla with orange and cinnamon- it is the way i usually drink it at home, but here i had to obey 2 the salt and lemon rules. and these crazy girls, the rabies babies, which i loved, with the smashing hit of the evening- i fought the floor and the floor won. then there was victor menace, "The original sound of Ninja Folk! A fusion of fast paced all-original gypsy and classical melodies, laced with occasional cock-rock moments, swing and reggae grooves, and a sprinkling of tourette's induced expletives." - as they describe themselves on their myspace page. a fire outside, dark alleys and a fence, a dog, and the same old feeling of "who gets the cigarretes"? i never asked for cigarettes to people on the street or in a club here, would never even consider doing that, but last night there was a bit of thet feeling- oh, we have no more ciggarettes? don't worry, I'll get some. hahaha.

Xmas present

my christmas present for rj:


... and my christmas present for james:

:-).

xxx.

may love float upon us all

like a smokey dozen of hazelnut seahorses and

childsize jolly sperms,

happy birthday for all the unbirthday parties

and merry photoshoping from now on too, gentlemen.

alien nation

"But while both humanization and dehumanization are real alternatives, only the first is the people's vocation. This vocation is constantly negated, yet it is still affirmed by that very negation. It is thwarted by injustice, exploitation, oppresion, and the violence of the oppressors.
[]
Dehumanization, which marks not only those whose humanity has been stolen, but also (though in a different way) those who have stolen it, is a distortion of the vocation of becoming fully human. "
(P. Freire, Pedagogy of the oppressed)

the best part of the alienation comes when people come to the situation when they turn one against the other when really they are on the same side and they are fighting for the same things. it's another one of the small petty victories of dehumanization and despair. why not have a multitude of frustrated lonely and angry people who don't want to speak to eachother instead of a big group of people who know what they want and can rely on eachother? because the group could be a threat. many lonely persons are more likely to be dominated and fooled. so come on barbie let's go party. resident evil.

ilie ghiurluc

this is my grandfather, ilie, from satul beciu. romania. he passed away today, 9 AM. he was a strong beautiful wise and quiet man. a house builder. in his last 7 days, all the people from his village came to pay him the last visit, to say goodbye and sorry for all the fights they had during life. i guess that's the way it should be. god bless him.

all that shit

do you have a lighter? I'm afraid i don't. oh, you are afraid. what are you afraid of? and what are you sorry about? and why don't you trust people? and why do you pretend you care when all you want is just to get rid of another night and check it in your little inside-my-head-toy-box you carry on like bombs inside your head? i really hope, for your sake, that that bomb will go off at some point. i really hope it will fucking blow all your politeness away and help you at least try to find something real. something that is good for you. something you really want. i'm so tired of all the rambling and giggling and "oh, that's so embarrasing", and "oh, I'm so glad you're not a lesbian..." and of "ah, that's fantastic!" and of that "you allright?". today i met a guy in the bus, i was coming home late and he was like- i think that it is very sad that english people act that way. it is a sad thing. yes. i think it's very sad. and i fuckin need a B52, right now, with my friends. i am nervous, i am frustrated, i don't get it.oh, that's so lovely of you. oh, that's so great. oh, i really think you are cute. oh, no shit. oh, i'm sorry. oh, i'm so drunk. oh, that's so embarrasing.

i know one thing: i am so lucky that i met some people here who just help me get through this.

ecstasy in the E.U.

last night i was telling rj and james about my first ecstasy ever- and i realized that it was when romania entered in E.U.- 2 years ago, New Years Eve, a bunch of friends, just getting out of the house, all the people on the streets happy, marching towards Piata Universitatii, the sky full of fireworks; sorin put some huge headphones on my head, and played Oxia- Domino, and I remember the exact image of us opening the fence door from lala's courtyard and going out on the street, I was like all the time holding hands tight with sorin and andrei, and then bogdan went in front of the group, and he started singing "allons enfants de la patrieeeeee/le jour de gloire est arriveeeee", and we were all following and singing, and I also remember very clear that there were like tons of people flooding the streets, all going to piata universitatii, happy, and fireworks covering all the sky. i never realized what a great memory that is. and I never made the connection btw the first x and Romania entering E.U. haha.

;

faceshield

the dead dancing squirrels

bit and bits. looking at all the shops and feeling like shit. like how can you put so much money in it just to SELL things? thinking about why do I feel lonely. and then thinking about humanity again, as in being human, as in the warmth of being human, of humans being human one with another. thinking about the "succeedin' in life" archetype that has been implanted in our brains like before you could even make a decision. the stairs of success, and all that talk about doing something in your life, and investing in your future, and developing the best out of you. doing your best to succeed in life. and about how people interact- like the instinct to conquer the others, to be seen, or at least to fit. to prove that you are as well good and maybe even better than the others. the need to conquer. the need to possess. as in atention, objects, people. the competition. the rewards. the power games. the money. the name. the work. the pride. "i'm proud to be who I am". the little moment of hesitation when u meet somebody so different that you consider him dangerous by default and you'd rather not speak to him. thinking about what you see everyday on the streets, and the ingorance training you developed with yourself in order to survive. because we see tons of shit everyday, and we just have to pass by.

i mean, i see stuffed squirrels in a shop window, dancing around a tiny crocodile with its mouth full open:

or a mannequin with a stuffed fox in a leash,

or fairytale dummies in fairytales settings, surrounded by bottles of wine and candies- because the fairytale sells.

and on and on, all kinds of things that you just train yourself not to see anymore. not to mention the homeless people. well there's a big no no. there is the maximum of our alienation. like your're on the streets, havin fun, walking to the club, and suddenly you see these guys lying on their cardboards, in their sleep sacks, looking at you- or just smoking a cigarette, or just sleeping, or reading a newspaper. and you have to move on, and have fun. i mean, what can you do, right? it makes you sad, but what can you do? so you just train yourself to ignore one more time. it's just what you have to work with. remember that scene in hedwig and the angry inch, when hedwig's lover finds the annoying inch of flesh between hedwig's legs? that inch of flesh left from the sex-change operation hedwig was more of less forced to do? the boyfriend says, in horror: "what's this?"- and hedwig says: "well, this is what i have to work with."

sometimes all those people are like that inch of flesh- but nobody wants to work with that.

anyway, as I said, I was thinking about all these things and then found 2 books. one of them is called "Design anarchy", by kalle lasn. the other is called "pedagogy of the oppressed", by paulo freire. i will talk more about the latter, because i seriously think that EVERYBODY should read that book. it was forbidden at some point, and people used to go to jail in brasil for reading that. because it is about humanity- about what's human in humans. and we don't want to go there, right? and about dialogue, as in true dialogue between equal human beings who respect eachother and do not want to possess eachother. and we definitely don't want to go THERE, right? and about communion as opposed to everyday's alienation. and about transforming the world as a natural consequence of thinking. and we DEFINITELY refuse to go there. right?

soo many informations. soo many tastes. spend my day kissing these guys:
and found out that, if i had known the basic things that a first aid training teaches you, maybe my grandmother wouldn't have died suffocated in my arms. poor poor romanian girls's bad luck, isn't that ironic? sometimes you just don't HAVE THE INFORMATION. i was so fucking angry- no even angry, but astonished, while somebody was explaining us what you should do in case that the person is not breathing anymore... and I JUST DIDN'T HAVE THAT INFORMATION. what to do in case that person's not breathing anymore. is that so hard to make a fuckin first aid training in schools, or something like that? make the information go around? ok. so i kissed those guys and made their chests go up and down, their plastic chests.

then walked, through the london scraps. found out about congo. found out about sorrow. found out about god. found out about the public toilets. found out about saudade. found out about the transparent offices and houses. about walls of concrete. about hundreds of people passing by and looking down. about the boats on thames. about laughter. about ioana. about people. about chris james. about lager. about a concert. about about orlando harrison. seems like an ordinary day, another one.

the jesus, the shit and the romanians

... and another one from the urban dictionary... look at the tags for romania. that's kind of funny:

romania romanian europe hungary gypsy transylvania moldova russia albania bulgaria germany dracula moldavia spain greece eastern europe revolution tatarasi ukraine hungarian poland anti-gypsy device east germany manele warsaw pact company turkey rom kickass ussr italy prince eu xisco roman jesus shit czechoslovakia england sex romanians poverty name wallachia gypo tepes romance romo vlad bucuresti communism

we have jesus and shit going together in our tag cloud...

mm, that girl just gave me a romanian kiss

1.	hmm, wow. look what i just copypasted from the urban dictionary : Romanian Kiss	22 up, 10 down
	When someone bites someone else's neck, from the fact that the "original" Dracula was from Romania (NOT Transylvania). Guy #1: "man, that girl just gave me a romanian kiss!" Guy #2: "Ouch!" french kiss vampire dracula romania bite by Blargman Mar 28, 2007 share this add comment

apple juice

when u come up from dean house, and see the row of houses, the light is always in a way strange and psychedelic. a sort of artificial glow from up above on the open road and to the horizont. today- all the light in london was psy. and no substances, cross my heart, just one apple in the morning (as in one real A-P-P-L-E- that is for some friends who think that when i say that i saw a swan on the sea it should mean something a whole lot different that a swan on the sea, and whom - the friends i mean- i miss very much). at 4:30 today the whole sky was violet. the national theatre is violet and blue. red lights float on thames near the greenwhich pier, near an almost fluorescent green strange tower who looks like a mosque.

when i come up from dean house, i see a candyland picture:



















it always looks like fairytales, like in the books when the houses were made of cardboard and sweets.

not to mention the recycle bins:



















there's a surreal feeling everywhere.

Please Arrest me for my own good and the continued security of the nation

"Hundreds of people everyday pack onto the underground, quite possibly oblivious to the realities of the law, quite possibly flagrantly contravening it, with what they are reading, wearing, listening to, or thinking. CSG were there to make sure the tube passengers don’t break any rules.

[...]


Our agents handed out information about their rights and details of how citizens could be displaying political opinions about their person, with deliberately dangerous allegiences or through an accident of ‘fashion’.

[...]


Our mission was timely, as we discovered many people who had never even heard of this wonderful government directive. Oddly, some seemed to be shocked at this, and rather worryingly started to question whether what they are reading, listening to or thinking, should be any concern of the government. We were pleased, however, to see just how many people submitted to our checks with the utmost supportiveness. Truly, the majority of the sensible British people are now so scared of the threats all around us, they know to be obedient, and to abide the law, however intrusive and apparently over the top it might be."

(excerpts from spacehijackers site )

hahaha.
these guys are great.

ah those shoes

(the shoes scene from trash)

con doom

protection. security measure. prevention. safety. security. CCTV. data protection. data surveillance. decent taste. good manners. proper. safe distance. avoid. prevent. keep safe.

"the same pleasure and a great smile, with no risks at all": british people are condom-people. not as in people who use condoms, but as in people who act like condoms. with the meaning mentioned above. same pleasure, no risks. no openness, but great careful attention and total exquisite manners. no humanity, but humanity with a security belt- first protect yourself from pottential harm, and then think about the others. anything might be or cause a potential harm. so you have to protect yourself from anything, and keep on smiling. nothing can stop you being completely happy and attentive as long as you have a really good and longlasting protection.

protect me from what i want- isn't that a london-based band? placebo, right:-)?

or is it a bit too much paranoia?

and no wonder sex pistols were born here in condom-land. ha. what other land could bring so much anger and rejection up?

trash, andy warhol, around 22 or 21 or whatever, after cutting my finger with the knife trying to open a can with pickled bamboos inside or smth like that, before asking rj to bring some bandages but there weren't any, so i just got stuck with some kitchen towels. in the morning there was a fire alarm. it went off because somebody was cooking with the door open, so we just had to get out from our rooms and sit in front of the halls for like 7 minutes until somebody came to check if it's a fire and although we all knew there wasn't any fire, nobody could enter the building until the security guy came. then watching trash as I've told you, which is a really great movie. totally forgot about my finger while watching it. and it was very strange that it was the only possible activity if i wanted to forget about the blood dripping from my finger and the pain was watching this movie.
so anytime you feel physical or any kind of pain, you can watch this.
and remember... don't go for the needle, boys and girls. go for the trash. from flat 13 appC, transmission over. oh, and by the way, there was a japanese bbc soap filmed right here, at 13. actually it's not a soap, but it sounds like a tourist soft porn movie with the wrong images.
link2movie
you can see rj, stella and JoJo, my flatmates, in the kitchen at some point. i wonder what the girl's doing with the old guy in the first part... and i really liked the white angelic light that was bathing the images from london and from our kitchen. it seems a dream come true. so, once again, don't go for the needle, boys and girls... go for the dream.
13 entertaiment... presents-

amanda lepore

The child of a chemical engineer father (Italian-American) and a schizophrenic mother (German-American), Lepore was born as a male in Cedar Grove, New Jersey. At the age of 11, Lepore professed a desire to have a sex change operation after seeing a TV show on the subject. Unable to tolerate dressing as a boy, Lepore made the decision to go to school dressed as a girl, which concerned her guidance counselor; Amanda was not allowed to attend school as a female, so she received a tutor at home. At the age of 15, she began designing costumes for dancers at a local strip club. During this time, she received hormones from an underage transsexual friend who accepted outfits as payment. After her body developed breasts, her tutor recommended a psychiatrist. Lepore was diagnosed as a transsexual. The psychiatrist informed her parents and helped in getting the hormones legally.^[9]

^(source)

now she is around 60 years old:


and she's plastic. basically. she has had so many operations and in-your-face three times lips and breasts, that she is organic-self-aware-plastic.

more on amanda

&

the club kids

short quiz

whooo's da sexyest boy in da neighbourhood? bob dylan on the creme cafe wall.

fake blood

lipstick.group work:let's have fun on ha lo w e e n. hallo ween. the butterflyish guys and the wanna-get-wasted-and-fucked-right-here-girls. hmm... is there something wrong with this picture? ok, so we get to a queue, the bodyguards act like prison guards- u have to be a student! u have to stay in line! one goes out, one goes in! (I forgot to tell you- this was a visit at the haloween party at student's union). all the people from the queue outside have the same makeup: blood. It's a mainly blood party. blood on the chin, blood on the cheeks, blood on almost everything. that's about it. There's a girl-dinozaur really shy inside, gently smiling around as ioana takes picuters. I don't know if she also wants a picture or she's just like that. the girl-dinozaur seems nice. and lonely, in her dinozaur outfit.

when you get a drink you have to wait like 30 minutes at least and smash yourself among the other bodies. there's a nice marilyn- manson- in- misery-guy-but- with- a- nice- smile at the bar. and everybody is just glad to have somebody takin pictures of them. they are proud. we meet superman. and the strumphs. (strumphs? is that correct? the strumphs?). everybody looks around to see who sees them. they act like I'm havin so much fun- I'm fun, and I'm funny, and I'm into it, I'm soo groovy and so into it... can u see? i would so much like to see that you see ME. or ME! or ME!

u can't get drunk because the drinks are too expensive, and you can't steal drinks because all the people drink everything until the last bit. because of course it's expensive. so floating in this I would like to get wasted, in fact I'm so willing to get wasted, but I can't afford it, but I'm here at the student's union, so it's gonna be sooo much fun, everybody's kind of full of enthusiasm in faking it. to be honest, at the beginning I was looking around amazed that they are taking this haloween thing so seriously. i mean- they really worked hard on that make-up. and i'm a bit superior, like- ok, that's lame.all the blood thing and shit. after that, i think that they are just young and having fun and there's nothing wrong in that. after that I begin to think like- those people really have no problems. then i was like- ok maybe I just come from a different background. maybe my childhood was different. I would never wear that shit, not even when i was 18. but maybe that's just because I'm a bit sour? and again- maybe just because my childhood was different? and the context and all? maybe it's ok to spend all that time in doing this:


I never went to a halloweeen party before, and wouldn't have imagined that I could go to one- except that here you just wanna see everything and take it as it comes. do it like they do it on discovery channel. i never saw santa claus in a red suit and with a beard coming to my house- and in fact I'm glad I didn't. to me it was more honest and poetic- santa claus was a mystery, until i discovered that my parents were santa claus, which was a big step in my growing up. and a honest one. they never pretended to be someone they are not.

... and the party ends at 3 o'clock, and all the bloody strumphs go home. quietly. is there something wrong with this picture? or do i just come from a different background? actually, there's no good and bad, no right and wrong. it's just fake blood, that's all.

benefits and bunnies

I went to centrepoint today. gonna start as soon as i have all my papers ready. it's a big place, biggest cp hall in london- 80 residents. had a talk with lindsay, whom I'm gonna assist as far as I know. lindsay's great and the place is great and I can't wait to get started. some facts about the people there: there are 40 boys and 40 girls, the average age is 18 to 25. it's a 2 years residence. the accom fees are paid by the government as a benefit, until they find a full time job. so when they find a full time job they have to look for renting in the private sector, or pay the accomodation fees at centrepoint (meaning 120 pounds/week).when they have the benefit, they have to pay 11 pounds a week to the halls. they also have 45 punds per week from the government. this benefit is like a support for the period in which you are looking for a job- which means you have to prove that you are looking for a job, and have job interviews and so on. from this 45 pounds a week, you pay 11 pounds to the halls, which leaves 34 pounds per week. the transport for a week is usually 10 pounds, so that leaves 24 pounds for a week... which is acually not much at all. but anyways, that's the benefit system, and it's ok that it exists. all these 80 residents have different stories- some of them just couldn't get along with their parents anymore, some of them were living in too small places, some of them just don't have parents. there are tons of reasons that can make you become homeless. which is a very radical word, similar in a way to "aurolac" in my country, but people seem to use it- so i guess it's not offending. anyways, so for a homeless kid, life seems to be like that: you go through care until 16 years old- which means that the government provides you a place to live and money and food and all, and then when you are 16 the care system cannot take care of you anymore, so you go to halls and homes and hostels like centrepoint. and when you have the right age to work, and when the government decides that you are able to work (which means that you pass some tests , I guess), you start looking for a job and you get the benefit until you find a full time job, which means that you are able to live by yourself, which means that usually you move from the halls and become an adult.lindsay told me that everybody's looking for a job, but there are a few people who don't really want to find a full time job, because, in essence, that would mean that they have to leave and become adults. there also some people who have full time jobs and don't want to leave the halls, so they pay the accomodation fee by theirselves, although in the private sector it would be much cheaper. (you can find a rent with 90 pounds per week in the private sector, whilst in centrepoint you have to pay 120 pounds per week.)

other news:




- I have a new teapot:




- have a new toy:

- my lava lamp is finally working



- my hair is growing:



--and I saw a bunny smoking hookah (narghilea) today: